Welcome To Hell
by MissDoubleONinja
Summary: You'd heard about these country look alikes, the 2P's. What you didn't know is how dangerous they were, how much they loved you, and how little they cared about getting blood on their hands. 2P!VariousXReader. Currently taking requests.
1. 2P America

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.**

**First pairing: 2p!AmericaXReader**

* * *

The blond American walked quickly to the world meeting, a smile plastered to his face. He'd been waiting forever for the world meeting to come, for one reason and one reason only. You.

You see, the American had a huge crush on you, but then again, why wouldn't he? You were super fricken' cool! You loved to play video games and eat hamburgers, and you were really nice and really cute and the list just went on and on.

He then spotted you and his heart rate and pace quickened. He ran at you, hugging you with such ferocity that the two of you fell to the ground, America on top. "Hey, dude!" He exclaimed cheerfully, flashing you his trademark idiotic grin.

You couldn't help but smile at his enthusiasm; he really was something else. "Hey, America."

The blond got off you and helped you to your feet, grinning broadly. "Hey, we'd better get to the world meeting!" Before you could say anything, he grabbed your hand and ran to the world meeting room.

You chuckled softly to yourself; he was so cute when he got like this.

"...So that's why I think the world should run on burgers!" The American finished proudly, smirking. He sat down and shot you a glance, hoping to see your reaction to his idea. You, however, were talking to France, but it wasn't his usual onesided flirting; you actually seemed to enjoy talking to the Frenchman.

The American curled his fingers into a fist, clenching his jaw as he watched you through narrow eyes. He may not look it, but America was a very jealous man; he didn't like it when other people talked to you. Sometimes, he was angry enough to snap and his other side would almost come out.

France leaned over and whispered something in your ear, causing you to blush. America took a deep breath, trying to calm down. If he started yelling at France, that would look totally uncool! Just...Calm down, America.

Smiling at you, France quickly kissed your cheek, and you smiled. "Are you alright, America?" Britain asked abrutly, noticing the blond's strange expressions. "You look rather tense."

"I'm fine." He hissed, and Britain decided to leave it at that. Suddenly, the American stood up and, to everyone's surprise, he left without a word. You watched his retreating figure, a look of confusion on your face.

Was he alright?

The American stumbled through the hall, gasping for air, a pained expression twisting his face. No, no, no! The other side couldn't come out! America would never let that happen!

There was a sharp pain in his side, causing the American to gasp sharply. His knees buckled and he found himself on the ground. He felt the desire to kill and destroy course through him, and a tear made its way down the American's cheek. He was too late.

There was another stab, a scream of pain, and the kind, innocent America was gone.

LE TIME SKIP

You dashed over to America's house, your high top clad feet slapping the pavement with each step you took. About five minutes ago, America called you, asking you to come over. You, of course, accepted; he sounded serious, which worried you.

You screeched to a halt in front of his house, giving your burning legs a break. You took a deep breath and lightly rapped your knuckles against the door. There was a moment of silence before you heard doorsteps and the door swung open. "Hey!" The American greeted.

You offered him a polite smile, but something seemed off to you. He was wearing sunglasses for one thing, and he seemed a lot more intimidating for some reason. He moved aside. "Come on in." You did so.

You casually glanced to the side and gasped; leaning against the wall was a baseball bat with nails, soaked in blood; fresh blood at that. The blond noticed your staring. "Oh, you're probably wondering about that. See, I couldn't help but notice France flirting with you, and I didn't really like that." His smile, which you then realized was sadistic, grew. "So, I did the natural thing. I got rid of him."

You backed up against the wall, your facing turning white. "You what?"

"You heard me." The American walked closer to you and removed his shades, his blood red eyes looking into yours. "Scared, darlin'?" Before you could scream, the American crushed his lips against yours. Your eyes shot wide open and you tried to push him away.

This angered him and he slammed you harshly against the wall, his kiss becoming more furious. His lips tasted metallic, the taste of blood. Your stoumach churned. He gently pulled away and moved his mouth to your ear. "Your mine, darlin'." He wrapped one arm around your waist and used the other to feel up and down your body.

"And don't you forget it."

* * *

And that was that. I might up the rating for future stories, just so you know. Anyhow, let's hear those requests!


	2. 2P England

**Pairing: 2p!EnglandXReader**

* * *

He walked through the crowded streets, his footsteps light, the bright sunlight shinning down on his strawberry blond hair. He stopped for a moment, his bright blue eyes scanning the area, though it was hardly necissarry; he could have walked there with his eyes shut, he knew the way so well.

His blue orbs rested on a small, comfy looking cafe that just seemed to make everything look a little brighter. He smiled, but it wasn't his usual crazed, sadistic smile he had plastered to his face whenever he played his game of cat and mouse; it was a true, genuine smile of happiness.

He walked over to the cafe and opened the door, inviting himself inside. It was rather cozy and warm, the smell of freshly baked bread in the air. He paused to deeply inhale the delicious smell; although he prefered cupcakes, the bread did smell rather tasty.

A small bell rung when he stepped inside, alerting you to his presence. A wide grin spread across your face. "Hello, Artie!" Of course you knew his name; the strawberry blond was one of your regular customers, and you always tried to remember them. "What can I get you today?"

"Just a cup of tea, love." Artie stated simply, taking a seat at one of the tables. You nodded and began to boil the water. The strawberry blond watched you work out of the corner of his eyes, thoughts passing through his head at an alarming speed.

He wasn't sure what it was about you that first got him obsessed. Maybe it was that sweet, innocent smile of yours. Or maybe it was the way you laughed, the sound similar to that of a wind chime's. Maybe it was because you baked cupcakes. He'd tried one and, he had to admit, it was rather tasty; not as good as his cupcakes, of course, but good all the same.

But you really were beautiful. Simply thinking about you made Artie hard.

He wasn't quite sure what these weird feelings were. He thought, at first, that it was simply his bloodlust, his desire to kill, that fueled these strange feelings. But the more he saw you, the stranger these feelings got. His desire to see your blood fadded away and his desire to see something more was replacing it.

He wanted to hold you in his arms, to wrap his arms around your slender waist, to kiss your lips. But, really, what were these feelings? Obsession? Or perhaps something more.

Artie snorted at this. He had thought whatever human emotions he had were gone, replaced by the desire to see crimson blood stain his knife. Oh yes, it was all very strange. Very strange indeed.

"Here's your tea." You said with a polite smile, bringing the strawberry blond out of his thoughts.

He offered you a smile. "Thank you, love." You smiled again before turning around- only to be stopped by an iron grip on your wrist.

Before you could question it, you were pulled back against a firm chest, an arm wrapping around your waist in a possesive way. "A-Artie?" You stuttered, your cheeks beginning to burn.

As he held you in his arms, he realized what these feelings were. He moved his mouth to your ear and whispered three words that would haunt you for the rest of your life.

"I love you."

* * *

Alright guys, these are the requests I'm doing in the order I'll write them:

**2P!Canada**

**2P!England(I got him several times, so expect to see him a fair amount)**

**2P!Italy**

**2P!Germany**

**2P!Romano**

And that's that. And guys: for the next chapter, there must be at least one review! Please?


	3. 2P Canada

**Pairing: 2P!CanadaXReader**

* * *

The blond Canadian sighed, resting his chin on his hand as he lazily watched the other countries argue like five year olds. It was a little sad, really. But as much as Canada would love to give his opinion, it wouldn't be heard, simply because no one noticed him. Sure, the Canadian was used to it, but that didn't mean he hated it any less.

He then felt someone tap on his shoulder and, naturally, he looked up. You flashed him a smile, sitting next to him. "Hey there, Canada!"

"H-Hey!" He stammered, smiling, his cheeks turning a faint shade of pink. Oh yeah, there was one person who noticed him: you. He had become friends with you at one of the world meetings, and now the two of you had become best friends, though the Canadian wanted to be more. You were cute, nice, and you noticed him. He'd be crazy not to fall in love with you. But the poor blond was so shy, he could never muster up the courage to ask you out. So he decided that, for now, he could deal with just being friends.

So the Canadian struck up a conversation with you, but after a few minutes, he noticed something strange; for some reason, you kept looking over at America, almost looking eager. But Canada told himself he was just imagining things and he didn't comment.

Time passed far too quickly for Canada's taste and the world meeting was over.

The Canadian cleared his throat and was about to ask if you wanted to go out with him to get pancakes- but he was interrupted by a certain American glomping you. "Hey, _!" America said cheerfully.

Canada didn't miss the blush that covered your cheeks. "Hey, America."

"Hey, dude, can you come with me? There's something I need to ask." You nodded and followed the American blond, leaving a flustered, and rather upset, Canadian behind you.

* * *

Canada wasn't stalking; he was merely observing. Peeking his head out from behind the wall, he quietly listened. "H-Hey, _." America stuttered, turning tomato red. "Do you want to go out with me?" The Canadian's eyes widened; his own brother was asking you out?!

"Yes!" You replied cheerfully, hugging him. Horror coursed through Canada. But it wasn't your response that truly broke him; it was when you pressed your lips to America's. Canada did the only thing he could at this point- he ran away, tears streaking down his flushed cheeks. His heart was completely and utterly broken.

But there was one thing he knew for sure: he wasn't the same Canadian anymore.

* * *

Canada was changing and, in all honesty, it was scaring you. He had grown his hair out and he kept it in a messy ponytail, and he carried around a hockey stick tainted red. You weren't sure you wanted to know why it was red. But what scared you the most was his eyes; they were cold and empty, no longer the innocent eyes he'd once had. He had become rude, cursed a lot, and he was constantly sarcastic and mean. You wanted to know what happened that changed your best friend this much.

Which was why you were driving with America over to Canada's house; the American didn't say it out loud, but you knew he was worried too. You stopped the car in front of Canada's house and walked to the front door with America. You rapped your knuckles on the door and impatiently waited for the blond Canadian. The door opened and Canada looked at the two of you, glaring coldly. "What the hell do you want?"

You glared coldly back. "Let us in. Now."

Still glaring, he opened the door wider. "Sure thing your majesty." He spat sarcastically. You bit back the retort you so wanted to yell; you were really getting tired of his bullshit.

"Canada, what's wrong with you?" You asked as you entered the room with America. "You've been acting completely out of character all week!"

There was a moment of silence before the Canadian spoke up again. "I need to talk to my brother in private. So get out."

"But-!"

"Out. Now." He hissed. You shot him a hard glare, but you walked to the kitchen, softly closing the door behind you. You sighed and leaned against the light blue wall, your arms crossed over your chest as you scowled at the tile floor. What did that damn Canadian not want you to hear?!

You then heard the sound of screaming and arguing in the other room and you flinched. What could they be yelling about? You then heard whacking sounds and more screams- of pain. Your eyes widening, you thru the door open and your hands flew to your mouth as you stared in horror.

America lay on the floor, his blood spilling onto the floor, unconscious. Canada stood over him, his blood drenched hockey stick held firmly in his hands as he turned to look at you, his eyes cold and insane. "W-Why...?" You breathed, tears welling up in your eyes.

His cold blue eyes met yours. "Because I love you." Before you could react, he grabbed you and threw you on the couch, getting on top of you. "I've always loved you, you know." He murmured as he began to kiss your neck. "Always. But you noticed my idiot brother more. So you know what?" He moved away from you neck to look you in the eye. "I snapped. Not that I mind, the old me would never have the courage to claim you."

He crashed his lips down on yours, his hand moving to your shirt as he began to unbutton it. You couldn't move to hit him, he was just too strong. You felt him fumble with the zipper of your jeans and you were ready to cry. Oh god...You prayed that America would wake up and be a hero.

Because if there was anything you needed right now, it was a hero.

* * *

Up next: 2P!Italy

Review, please!


	4. 2P Italy

You looked into the blood red eyes of the insane man who wore Italy's face, trembling like a leaf as shivers of horror ran up and down your spine. As you slowly backed away, eventually hitting the wall, you thought back to the events that transpired before today, and you couldn't believe you didn't see this coming.

**Monday**

You rapped your knuckles against the door of your Italian friend's house, sniffling. Right now you needed to pour your heart out to someone and who better than sweet, comforting Italy?

The door flew open, revealing a handsome, grinning Italian. "Hola, Bella _!" His smile quickly faded, though, when he noticed how red and puffy your eyes were. "What's wrong?"

That did it. "Oh, Italy!" You wailed, throwing yourself at the stunned Italian.

He caught you skillfully, surprise lighting up his face. He held you for a moment before finally saying something. "What's the matter?"

"He-He broke up with me." You were, of course, refering to your ex boyfriend; the fact that he broke up with you by text message only rubbed salt on the open wound.

You looked into his eyes which were, much to your surprise, open and very serious.

"I-I don't know what to think...I really loved him, Italy."

For a second, you could have sworn you saw rage twist his features. It soon, however, turned into a look of reassurment and you decided it was just your imagination. "Don't worry!" He said, flashing you his trademark naive smile. "I'm sure you'll get over him soon! And hopefully move on to someone else..." You wondered if he was trying to imply something, but you smiled politly all the same.

"Thanks, Italy." You waved farewell and began to jog home.

Yet you couldn't shake off the bad feeling you had.

**Tuesday**

You collapsed on the couch, letting out a sigh of immense relief. Your boss was such a dick, making you work overtime on a broken heart. It felt so damn good to kick back and relax.

Grabbing the remote, you hit the red on button and the news flashed across the once blank screen. "...In other news, a man by the name of (boyfriend's name) was found dead." Your eyes wideneing in horror, you frantically turned the volume up. "He was found dead in the park, his throat and chest slashed open. He-." You quickly turned the T.V. off, fighting back tears.

You couldn't believe he was murdered, nor could you believe it was on the day after he broke up with you. Now, that was a little suspicious. Who the hell could have killed him? An image of Italy swam in your head and you shook it away violently, banning the image.

What were you thinking? This is Italy we were talking about here, sweet, innocent Italy. He couldn't even wound a person, let alone kill one!

...Right?

**Wednesday**

You heard someone knoc on the door. With a sigh, you leapt off the couch and answered the door. Much to your surprise, it was Germany. He wasn't one for friendly visits, making you wonder why he came.

"Gutan tag." He said stiffly. "Can I come in?"

"Sure." You said, still surprised. He entered your house, sitting down on the couch. "We need to talk about Italy." Another surprise. "He's been acting strange all week, almost like his-!" The German cut off abrutly.

You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. What the hell was going on?

**Today**

"Here you go, Bella _!" The Italian said happily, setting a plate of pasta down in front of you.

You offered him a polite smile. "Thanks, Italy." About 30 minutes ago, your friend called you up, inviting you to dinner. It would have been rude to refuse; plus, Italy did make some pretty good pasta. Twirling a forkfull of pasta onto your fork, you lifted it up and ate. You frowned slightly when the taste hit your tounge. The pasta tasted fine, but the sauce tasted rather strange, almost metallic.

"Hey Italy, what's in the sauce?" You asked, trying not to let your discomfort show.

"Oh, you know, the usual. Herbs, spices," He suddenly grinned. "Blood."

Your face paled. "Pardon?"

"Blood." He repeated, moving a little closer to you. "Did you hear about what happened to your boyfriend a few days ago?" Horror coursed through you as the chilling realization sank in. This man wasn't Italy, that you were certain of. The Italy you knew would never do something like this.

"Who are you?"

The Italian smirked. "You can call me 2p!Italy. That's what everyone calls me."

"Where's Italy?!" You screamed, standing up to grab the collar of his shirt. "Dead." Those simple words made your knees feel weak. His eyes suddenly flew open, revealing blood red orbs. "I couldn't let him get in the way." You looked into the blood red eyes of the insane man who wore Italy's face, trembling like a leaf as shivers of horror ran up and down your spine. You slowly backed away, thinking of the best way to escape.

Suddenly, 2p!Italy pounced on you, successfully pinning you to the ground. He used one hand to hold your hands above your head and the other to grab a knife out of his back pocket. He pressed it dangerously close to your neck, his insane smirk growing. "And where do you think your going?" You didn't reply, your throat paralized by fear.

"I might've killed that ex of yours, but you'll eventually date some other guy, won't you?" He asked, his face close to yours. "Don't answer that, I know you will. Quite the slut, aren't you?" 2P!Italy laughed bitterly. "Still, I'd hate for you to be with some other guy. I'd hate that a lot."

With no warning, he slammed his lips harshly against yours. Before you could register what was happening, you felt a blinding pain in your neck. 2p!Italy pulled away, laughing as he observed your bleeding, and quickly dieing, body. "I'd hate that. So your going to stay with me forever."

You coughed up some blood as you looked at the insane man through clouded eyes, your life quickly fading away. He laughed at your futile struggle to stay alive, repeating his dark promise.

"You'll stay with me forever."

* * *

2p!Germany up next!


	5. 2P Germany

It was just a few minutes after midnight, the dark shadows of the night spilling over the small town. It was about as quiet as a library, with the exception of your loud, quick footsteps on the concrete as you tried to dash home.

You knew that it wasn't safe to be out at night, though it wasn't criminals that worried you; it was the fact that this night was becoming worse than the ones you had no choice but to endure this time of year. Cold, white snowflakes were beginning to fall down softly to the ground below where, unfortinatly, you were currently running.

These seemingly harmless flakes of snow would make the nights, already cold and hard enough to endure, colder and far more miserable. The differance was, out here, you didn't have a heated blanket or a mug of hot chocolate with precisly two marshmellows, merely the small pools of light from the lampost to help guide you back to these comforts.

But, as the snow started to come down harder, you weren't sure you'd make it back home before you were buried alive. As you dashed down the streets, you recognized a particular house, a two story brick house, to be precise, that belonged to an old comrade of yours from World War 2, Ludwig Beilschmidt, an irritable blond with cold, blue eyes and the tolerance of a starving bear.

Still, you'd rather be in his cozy home than out in the snow. You could only hope that he'd take pity on you and allow you to spend the night. It would be very unLudwig-y of him to do such, you thought with a sarcastic laugh, but you could still hope, right?

A sigh of relief escaping your lips, you slowed down your pace, allowing your heart rate to do the same, as you walked up to the front door. You rapped your knuckles against the front door, placing your hands on your hips as you impatiently waited for the German to answer the door. You were starting to consider breaking the door down when it swung open, revealing the irritable German, though there was something different about him.

His blond hair was messy, though you assumed he'd been sleeping before you came knocking on his door. No, it was his eyes that confused you; instead of the icy blue orbs you'd expected to come face-to-face with, you instead met a pair of violet eyes that, when they bore into yours, were so piercing that you thought he was trying to look right through you, to figure out what you were planning to do and to unearth whatever secrets you may or may not be keeping locked away.

The eyes of a natural born warrior.

"Ja? Vhat do you vant?" His eyes narrowed, clearly not pleased that he had to drag himself to be in your presence.

"Hello, Ludwig." You greeted pleasently, the look in his eyes starting to make you nervous. "Care to help an old friend out in a time of need?"

This response didn't seem to satisfy him. "Vhy?"

You gestured to the snow behind you, which showed no sign of ceasing its fall. "I'd rather not try to crawl my way through that. Do you think I could spend the night at your house?"

He suddenly flashed a cocky and slightly perverted(though perhaps that was just your imagination) smirk. "Ja. Come on in." He moved aside, gesturing for you to enter.

More than happy to obey, you stepped inside and looked around- shocked as you took in the messiness of the house before you. Countless papers were scattered around, instead of being in the neat piles you were used to seeing and, as you ventered into the kitchen, you examined the stains you never thought you'd see. You couldn't believe this was neat freak Ludwig's house.

It was then that you considered the possibility that the war really did drive him nuts and he was just now showing it. Though it didn't explain those damn violet eyes...

"Hey, Ludwig?" You asked, trying to sound casual about it. "Is there some-?"

You were cut off by the German's quick movements that led him to stand before you. You took a quick step back, hitting the wall. Ludwig only smirked as he proceeded towards you. "_, do you know how much I vant you?"

Your eyes lit up in shock. "W-What?"

"Ja." His face was now inches from yours. "I vant you so badly. Vhich is vhy this snow worked out for me."

Before you could question what the hell he was talking about, you felt an explosion of pain on your head and everything went black.

At first, when you woke up, you weren't sure your eyes were open- it was far too dark. You tried to move around, but you felt a sudden burning as what you assumed was rope rubbed harshly against your wrists. You took a deep breath, trying to backtrack and figure out why the hell you were tied to a bed. Oh yeah, Ludwig's lost his mind and he got violet contacts to see you piss your pants.

What an asshole. Speaking of assholes, where was he anyway? It's not like you could exactly spot him in this dark as night room. It was when you thought you would like to take your chances out in the snow that you heard a dark chuckle echo through the room.

Footsteps moved toward you until a heavy body was on top of you, causing the bed to creak from the sudden weight. The sudden contact alarmed you, and you made sure he knew that. "Who the hell do you think you are?!"

He moved his face closer to yours and, based on his tone, you had a feeling he was smirking. "Not vho you think I am."

"What?"

His smirk widened. "I guess you could call me Ludvig's other side. Address me as Lutz."

This guy was nuts! "What are you planning to do with me?!"

Another dark chuckle. "I'm so glad you asked." He suddenly ripped your shirt off, causing you to gasp. Reaching over to the bedside table, he swiftly lit up a candle and then proceeded to take his shirt off. From the faint light, you saw the look of a hunter in the blond's orbs and your eyes widened in horror.

Before you could protest, he slammed his lips against yours, nibbing on your bottom lip to ask for entrance. Like hell you'd let him! This annoyed the German and he roughly squeezed one of your breasts. You yelped and Lutz took full advantage of that, shooting his tounge into your mouth and exploring your caverns eagerly.

He suddenly released his mouth from yours and moved down to your neck, sucking and biting on the sensative skin. You bit your tounge, trying to bit back a moan. Taking a moment to admire the large red mark he left, he trailed his lips down, smirking against your bra clad chest.

Grabbing the bra, he ripped it off your chest, releasing your breasts to the cold air. He took one of your breasts in his mouth, sucking the nipple, and began to kneed the other with his rough hand. Unable to hold it back, you released a loud moan of pleasure. Pleased by the moan he got out of you, Lutz continued to go south, effectivly pulling off both your skirt and your soaking wet panties.

Smirking at your dripping wet enterance, the German hicked your legs over his shoulders, lowering his head to your womanhood. His tounge then penetrated you. The suuden warmth inside of you caused your eyes to widen in pleasure. "L-Lutz!"

The German used his hands to massage your breasts as he nibbled on the sensative flesh. The combination was almost too much to bear. "Ah! L-Lutz!"

The German's tounge left and he moved up to look at you. Seeing you under him, blushing and panting, only made the bulge in his pants worse. The German took a moment to remove his pants and boxers. The moment you saw his bulge shoot out, your blush darkened.

The German turned back towards you, wrapping your legs around his waist. "Are you ready, mein frau?" Not waiting for your reply, the German entered you roughly.

You cried out in pain at the sudden enterance. Not giving you any time to adjust, the German thrust in and out of you mercilessly. Your moans grew louder and louder with each thrust, until finally you found yourself reaching your release. "Lutz!"

"Louder!" He snarled.

"LUTZ!" With a loud grunt, Lutz did one last hard thrust before pulling out, laying down beside you. For a moment, you both just sat there, the only noise being your ragged breathing as you struggled to get your breath back.

You looked at the German, confusion written all over your dark red face. "W-Why?"

Lutz's violet eyes bore into yours, shinning with passion.

"Ich liebe dich, _."


	6. Stalker 2P England

Oliver Kirkland, 2p! of Arthur Kirkland, was obsessed, a fact he knew quite well, and enjoyed every second of it. Now it was not your average obsession, the kind most people had with a particulary good tv show or an amazing book series. No, his obsession lays with a person, a girl known as _ to be precise.

He could have been considered her stalker, but as far as his twisted romantic mind was concerned, it was research on the woman he loved. He remembered reading in a book once, for books used to be his only way to escape the hell of his life, that everyone had that one special person made just for them. Well, Oliver was quite sure that person was her, his other half, the icing to his cupcake, his love.

Oh, how he yearned to hold her in his arms, to whisper sweet nothings in her ear after making love. However, only one thing stood in his way: Arthur Kirkland, his 1p! and _'s current boyfriend. What she saw in his dull, bland 1p!, Oliver didn't know, not that it really mattered; he would be gone soon, anyway. The 2p! slipped the sharpened knife in his pocket, a maniacal grin twisting his handsome features.

Just you wait, little _, soon you would belong to Oliver Kirkland.

* * *

Before now, you thought your month couldn't get any weirder, or creepier for that matter. For the past month, you recieved letters of love from a person who signed his name as _Your Secret Admirer_. Pretty vauge.

However, you never thought the letters would turn into something like this. Your eyes widened with horror as you looked upon the dead, bloody body of your beloved boyfriend, Arthur.

You fell to your knees, letting out a choked sob. He had been stabbed multiple times, leaving nothing to look at but a bloody mass.

Next to his body was a letter, written in cursive writing:

_Dearest _,_

_I have taken care of the obstacle. Now we can be together. Meet me at the old cabin in the woods._

_Sincerely yours,_

_Your secret admirer_

The old cabin in the woods.

So he knew about that. The old cabin was this cabin that's been in the woods near your town for as long as you could remember and, when gossip was scarce, was mentioned in whispers about the disappearance of people by those who believed the cabin was haunted. You never believed such rumors, not that that stopped the cabin from freaking you out when you were younger.

It was there that you first met Arthur. When you gained enough courage to visit the cabin there, you found him looking around there to see if any of his "magical friends" were lurking about. It was when he asked if you wanted to meet his "flying mint bunny" that you questioned his sanity. Still, he looked so lonely you decided to be his friend.

For this admirer to choose to meet where you first saw Arthur...Was he trying to rub salt on the wound? Your hands trembling in anger now, you slammed the note on the floor and stood up, dashing out the door.

Anyone in their right mind would have thought twice about meeting up with their boyfriend's killer, but you certainly weren't in your right mind; anger clouded your better judgment. You ran through the woods, tree branches scratching your arms and face, though you ignored the pain, determined to keep going. When you arrived, you screeched to a halt, your eyes widening as you took in the scene.

The old cabin was engulfed in orange and red flames, the flames dancing, as though celebrating the destruction of the cabin. Tears streaked down your face, lit by the bright flames. Arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you into a firm chest. "'Ello, poppet."

You snapped your head up to see who it was, gasping when you saw his face "A-Arthur?!" But, as you looked closer, you realized it was someone else; while quite similar, this guy had strawberry blond locks and the most piercing blue eyes you've ever seen.

Your question didn't seem to face the Brit. "I'm Oliver. Oliver Kirkland." He looked at the roaring fire, grinning. "This is where you met Arthur, correct? Now that he's dead and this place is gone, it's like you never met him!" He giggled.

So he was the admirer. There was some sort of irony about this, but you were too angry to consider it. "Why?" You hissed. "Why would you do this? Kill Arthur? Burn down the old cabin? What could you possibly have to gain?!"

He tightened his grip, burying his head in the crook of your neck. "You. You are my love." And before you could question it, he grabbed your face and pressed his lips to yours. Your eyes widening, you tried to force him away, not that it did anything; his grip was like iron. He nibbled on your bottom lip, asking for entrance, though you refused to give it to him. Annoyed by this, the strawberry blond roughly squeezed one of your breasts.

You squeaked and he took full advantage of that, shooting his tounge into your mouth, eagerly exploring your cavern. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to ignore the faint taste of cupcakes. He pulled away slowly, using one hand to keep a firm grip on your waist and the other to hold your shoulder. His bright blue eyes pierced your, eyes that might have looked innocent to others, but you knew better; these were the eyes of a murderer, an insane obsession gone too far.

"You're my other half." He purred, lightly planting a kiss on your neck. "You belong to me poppet, and only me." Yes, Oliver Kirkland was a man obsessed, a fact he knew quite well.

And God, how he loved every second of it.


End file.
